Brandon of the Engineers

The sure-footed mules, braced hard against the weight of the carriage,

slid down a steep descent across slippery stones when Clare, who wondered

what would happen if the worn-out harness broke, rode into Adexe.

Gleaming white houses rose one above another among feathery palms, with a

broad streak of darker green in their midst to mark the shady alameda.

Behind, the dark range towered against the sky; in front lay a

foam-fringed beach and the vast blue sweep of dazzling sea. Music came up

through the languid murmur of the surf, and the steep streets were filled

with people whose clothes made patches of brilliant color. The carriage

jolted safely down the hill, and Clare looked about with interest as they

turned into the central plaza, where the driver stopped.

"It's a picturesque little town and I'm glad you brought me," she said.

"But what does the fiesta they're holding celebrate?"

"I don't know; the first landing of the Spaniards, perhaps," Kenwardine

replied. "Anyhow, it's a popular function, and as everybody in the

neighborhood takes part in it, I came with the object of meeting some

people I do business with. In fact, I may have to leave you for a time

with the wife of a Spaniard whom I know."

When coming down the hillside Clare had noticed a sugar mill and an ugly

coaling wharf that ran out into the bay. Two steamers lay not far off,

rolling gently on the glittering swell, and several lighters were moored

against the wharf. Since she had never heard him speak of coal, she

imagined her father's business was with the sugar mill, but he seldom

talked to her about such matters and she did not ask. He took her to an

old, yellow house, with tarnished brass rails barring its lower windows

and a marble fountain in the patio, where brilliant creepers hung from

the balconies. The soft splash of falling water was soothing and the

spray cooled the air.

"It is very pretty," Clare said while they waited. "I wish we could make

our patio like this."

"We may be able to do so when Brandon and his friends bring us the

water," Kenwardine replied with a quick glance at the girl. "Have you

seen him recently?"

"Not for three or four weeks," said Clare.

There was nothing to be learned from her face, but Kenwardine noted a

hint of coldness in her voice. Next moment, however, a stout lady in a

black dress, and a thin, brown-faced Spaniard came down to meet them.

Kenwardine presented Clare, and for a time they sat on a balcony, talking

in a mixture of French and Castilian. Then a man came up the outside

staircase and took off his hat as he turned to Kenwardine. He had a

swarthy skin, but Clare carelessly remarked that the hollows about his

eyes were darker than the rest of his face, as if they had been

overlooked in a hurried wash, and his bare feet were covered with fine,

black dust.